


The Lost Boys

by JakeDov



Category: The Riyria Chronicles, The Riyria Revelations - Michael J. Sullivan
Genre: Insecurities, Love, M/M, Riyria, Royce and Hadrian in action, it´s complicated..., relationships, thieves at work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 22:13:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17609999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JakeDov/pseuds/JakeDov
Summary: Royce and Hadrian investigate a highly dangerous case in the harbor city of Vernes in the South. An unusual customer approched them with a very unusual suspicion. Arriving in Vernes they set to work immediately, yet they soon find out nothing is as it seemed as first.In addition to dealing with a highly demanding conspiracy theory, they both have to solve complex issues of a more personal nature that will either enhance or destroy their friendship. Either way, this case will definitely change their partnership forever....





	The Lost Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Guys!
> 
> After a hell of a semester I finally have some time to write again and I finished the first chapter of a fanfic I started about a year ago ;)  
> It´s my first work about the Riyria books and I hope you´ll like it. I have a big story planned, and would be happy for any kind of feedback you can/want to give. Please dont hesitate to leave a comment (and, if you like it, a kudo ;*)
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

**No Rest for the Wicked**

 

“Tell me again why we agreed to take this case?” Royce muttered darkly and swatted at the heavy air to disperse an armada of flies. “This is a stupid idea.”

 

Hadrian could not see the expression on his partner´s face because he had insisted on leading the way. All he could make out was his ride´s swatting tail a step ahead, constantly in motion to fight off what mosquitoes didn’t try to get a bite at either Royce or Hadrian themselves. He could very well imagine it, though. Mimicking the horses and fanning a hand in front of his face to part the thick veil of flies and avoid getting perforated Hadrian rolled his eyes – oftentimes the only response to Royce´s continuous grumble.

 

“Why do almost all of our professional conversations always start with this very same question of yours?”

 

Hadrian asked back, trying to avoid the worst puddles in the middle of one of the mud tracks of the city´s less reputable dockside district. He followed an impatient Royce turning a corner and veering off into another, even narrower back alley consisting of barely more than dirt and half-dried muck. This road was ruddy, the clientele dodgy at best, and he spotted what looked to him like a thick coating of shimmering mould in cracks between ramshackle houses. He was used to far more uncomfortable conditions from his days working for the Goblins in the jungles of Calis but that didn’t mean Hadrian had an affinity for decay and rot.

 

“I think you have an attitude problem,” he continued.

 

“There´s nothing wrong with _my_ attitude”, his partner shot back immediately. “We would have a much easier time if you´d simply adapt to it. We are trying to run a business here, not a charity. Why do you always have to be so stubbornly simple-minded?”

 

“I am not simple-minded,” Hadrian bristled, genuinely offended. He stumbled through a group of brawling drunkards undoubtedly on their way to wage mischief and in his haste to keep up with Royce he stepped into something dark and squishy. He prayed to Novron for something of non-human origin or else his evening would be truly ruined. “I am being _nice_. There is a difference, Royce. Even though you choose to not always be able to see it. Why do you have to be so damn grumpy all the time? This thing we´re doing would be much more cheerful if you were showing compassion once in a while. For once what we´re trying to accomplish here does not involve some sneaky stealing, cunning cheating or some other kind of dishonesty. It´s _righteous_. Why can´t you be a bit more positive about this mission?”

 

Royce being Royce, Hadrian knew exactly what his associate would be thinking now. He immediately regretted having given him the opportunity to complain. He had done so almost incessantly the entire time during their trip here all the way from Medford, and usually happy whenever a reticent Royce spoke with him, Hadrian wished for nothing more right now than for him to stop. Period.

 

“Maybe because one of us conveniently keeps forgetting we´re supposed to be _thieves_. You do know what that actually means, don’t you?” Royce looked over his shoulder reproachfully only long enough for his black eyes to bore into Hadrian´s lighter, gentler ones but not long enough for Hadrian to talk back at him. “It _involves_ stealing from people. It _requires_ being dishonest. And it is most decidedly not _righteous_. We should be cunning and conniving and maximizing our profits while we´re at it. It´s not about saving every damn damsel in distress throwing herself our way. You´re much too soft. Really, this plan of yours is insane. I don’t like it.”

 

“So you keep saying,” admonished Hadrian, “but may I remind you that for once it was not quite a damsel that hired us, but rather a stout young man who was throwing himself at you in particular.”

 

The encounter was still fresh in Hadrian´s mind and he still marvelled at the weirdness of the entire affair. Their unlikely employer had been quite mysterious indeed. Sure as Maribor nothing alike to anyone Hadrian had ever seen before. He had made him uneasy too, though Hadrian couldn’t quite put a finger on what had bothered him so much. He was not very much like any damsel Hadrian had ever encountered though, that much was for sure.

 

“To his credit he did seem very distressed, though,” Hadrian added, as if in an afterthought to himself.

 

“You may,” grumbled Royce, this time without bothering to look back, “but it does in no way corroborate your argument. Not everyone should be helped. Some simply do not deserve to be saved.”

 

Both men led rather than rode their tired animals though the murky streets of Vernes, oppressing in the stifling heat of high summer, trying not to get eaten alive. The dark streets were busy even after midnight and they frequently had to swerve around costermongers and businessmen crying their trade from street-side shops or pulley carts filled with merchandise, advertising their trade and crying prices of discounted goods at the top of their voices. Whooping children, caked in dirt up to their hairline run barefoot around the scene, indulged by some, ignored by most. Like most of their elders they were clad in simple linen discoloured by usage, held together by decommissioned nautical ropes and cords. Royce and Hadrian were interested in neither; they were not here at their leisure. It was hot and oppressing, and Hadrian would much rather be back in more moderate Medford with a frothing pint of cool, dark beer and the quiet comfort of a Lady of The House in his lap. Apparently though, what you wanted was not always what you got. At least nobody here seemed to pay particular attention to two more miserable figures clad in black shouldering their way through the bustling crowds.

 

Vernes was a hub of nocturnal activities of all kinds imaginable, but as soon as they stepped into another even more run-down side street they were abruptly swallowed by a very distinct kind of loneliness. The overhanging houses surrounding them on all sides formed a hollow, man-made trench swallowing all animation and evidence of human civilization. All sound died away as they abandoned the portside and soon they were trudging on in the near-silence of a sultry summer´s night. The air was suffused with the buzzing of millions of flies on the hunt and the swishing of their horses´ tails as they were trying to get rid of them.

 

Both men continued in muted silence for a while and Hadrian noticed that though their immediate vicinity looked nothing short of run-down and shabby, the muddy walkway seemed disproportionally well-maintained. The windows of most haphazardly patched-up houses in the area were dark – other than in the more affluent parts of the city, local citizenry was poor and could not afford the comforting light of candles burning away hard-earned money through the nights. Hadrian felt eyes on his back, though, and instinctively knew they were being watched even though he couldn’t actually see anyone. His free hand moved closer to the weapons slung through his belt. Sweaty fingers itched to draw a dagger and finally do something useful. He guessed it wasn’t often heavily armed strangers led healthy-looking horses with brimming saddle-bags through these peoples´ dwelling grounds. Even if they didn’t meet whom they came to see, Hadrian would have to be on his guard.

 

“Are you sure this is the right way?”, Hadrian asked. As though the dismal surroundings commanded so, he involuntarily spoke in a hushed voice. “Looks like a dead end to me.”

 

This earned him another glare from Royce and an impatient snicker. “It is the right way,” the other man answered unperturbed. “I know exactly where we are. And even if it weren’t the right way, consider yourself lucky because you´d make one man particularly happy right now by getting lost and stepping off your oh-so-righteous path once in a while. You´d have that in common with dear Dunstan.”

 

“You know, sometimes you are just cruel,” Hadrian sighed. Despite his mistrust in the fellow that had approached them five nights ago, Hadrian had actually seen the need in his eyes as well. “Did you not see the desperation in his face when he pleaded with you? He tried so hard to assure us we were his very last hope. That man would have lost his head if we had not agreed to help him. Literally, probably.”

 

“So what? That´s hardly our problem, is it? It was not an awfully pretty head to begin with,” Royce turned around brief enough to scowl at Hadrian. “It _will_ be our problem, though, if due to your foolishness _we_ lose _our_ heads on this job. Literally. We will be hanged for interfering with men like the ones your pity protégé says have robbed him. Nothing good will come of this. I am hereby officially warning you.”

 

“Oh, come on, Royce! Not even you can be that heartless! The guy was destitute! He didn’t have any other options. What should I have done, in your mind, rejected him?”

 

Royce sounded like he was speaking to a particularly dumb dog. “Yes! Yes, exactly that. Finally you´re listening!”

 

“We are his very last chance of redemption, Royce,” Hadrian admonished, “you heard him. It wouldn’t have been human to turn him away.”

 

“Then I hate to disappoint you but I am not human.”

 

“Besides,” Hadrian went on as if Royce had not spoken, “we have undertaken much worse and been on more dangerous missions. I don’t really see your problem here.”

 

“This whole mission is my problem.”

 

Hadrian stumbled into another murky puddle, leftovers from heavy afternoon showers. He cursed elaborately and then proceeded in a jog, his left foot now making disconcerting sucking noises every time he took another step. Hadrian grimaced, feeling the muck starting to slosh between his humid toes.

 

“Did it not touch you when he told us about the boy? About what happened to him? About what these men did to him? Don’t you wanna see justice dealt?”

 

“No.” Royce´s voice was hard, as was the expression set on his face. “I don’t care about these men, and I certainly don’t care about a random boy. I care even less about justice, you know that. But what I do care about is us. You and me and the safety of our enterprise. And I have a very bad feeling about all this.”

 

Hadrian sighed. If he had learned anything from the past few years spent with Royce, it was that his partners´ gut could was usually right. More than once Royce´s intuition had kept them both alive, more than once his instincts had saved their lives. More than any other sentiment or premonition Hadrian himself had ever felt, Royce was never wrong, and both of them knew it. It was why Royce usually had the last word on whether or not to take a case and run the mission, and usually Hadrian was glad to let his partner do the selecting. The few cases they had worked without Royce´s permission had all ended rather unfortunate, for all parties involved. It was why Hadrian felt so reluctant to disagree with Royce now, even though he knew seeing the mission through was the right thing to do. A destitute farmer had approached them in the early hours of the morning in Medford – drunk and near senseless in his grief – but his accusations had been coherent enough. What was worse – they had even made perfect sense to Hadrian. Which was why Riyria had to help him.

 

“What if there was money involved?”, Hadrian asked, provocatively. “Surely that would help make you change your mind, wouldn’t it?”

 

“There is no money involved,” Royce hissed back promptly, sounding like an angry snake posing to strike. “Thanks to foolish you when you told him – and I am quoting here - ´worldly aspects like money or payment are not what counts. We are here to help´.” Royce´s cloak fluttered while he gestured, like the wings of a lithe but deadly quick bird of prey flapping as he got ready to devour all that dared oppose him. His voice transformed into a near perfect imitation as he mimicked Hadrian’s deeply apologetic empathy.

 

“I don’t sound like that!”

 

“That´s what you sound like to me. ` _We are here to help_! Seriously!?! You couldn’t have come up with something more profitable?”

 

“What can I say,” Hadrian shrugged, “I am a very caring man. To care is to share.”

 

“You´re hopeless, that´s what you are. There´s hardly any use in sharing if there is nothing to share in the first place,” replied Royce. “In case you haven’t noticed, we have absolutely nothing to give. Need I remind you that we haven’t been on a job in almost a month?”

 

“That was hardly my fault,” protested Hadrian immediately, with a voice too strong for their surroundings. Royce whipped around again and his glare struck Hadrian just as if he had indeed swung a lash at him. His shoulders sagged. “Well okay, it may have been partly because of me, but it was not _entirely_ and not _only_ my fault. I wasn’t the one who insisted on carrying pails of embroidery up and down the streets all day long just to spare a very assertive young woman of our acquaintance excessive walks through town. I wasn’t the one playing errand boy for a courtesan.”

 

“No, that’s true,” Royce agreed sarcastically. “You were the one who managed to be stone drunk for two weeks at a stretch for no good reason. Too inebriated to stand straight I´d wager you wouldn’t have fared particularly well on the back of a moving horse. Much less in a fight. You know I am not a hypocrite.”

 

“No, you are far worse than that.”

 

“You are a lousy thief,” Royce accused him with a dark scowl.

 

“And you´re a lousy person. How about a little empathy once in a little while?”

 

“Empathy doesn’t buy me food and keep me warm at night,” complained Royce in a calculated growl.

 

“No,” mumbled Hadrian under his breath. “You´d have to rely on me for that.”

 

He immediately regretted having spoken out loud as Royce jerked his head and breathed sharply. He didn’t respond, though, but Hadrian knew he heard him perfectly well. Royce had been right before, he was not completely human and at least where Hadrian´s experience was concerned there was nothing he could mumble ever so under his breath that his partner wasn’t able to pick up on. Royce had sharp ears and an even sharper mind. It was as much a part of his elven heritage as the slightness of limbs and the soundless swiftness with which he moved. An undeniable asset up their sleeves in many uncomfortable confrontations, to Hadrian this advanced set of abilities sometimes felt as much a curse as it was a blessing. He sometimes had a hard time hiding things from a quiet yet always vexingly attentive Royce. He hadn’t meant to speak these words out loud, however. He had hinted at them a few times before, but every time he had mustered the courage to actually try and talk to him Royce had just ignored him. Shrugging, he decided to let matters go and ran a hand over his face. It came away sticky in equal parts with hot sweat and black flies. Hadrian felt nauseous.

 

“So, what _did_ you think of our customer?”, Hadrian asked of Royce. “He appeared to be quite unusual, didn’t he?”

 

“Nothing much,” Royce answered maybe a bit too quick for Hadrian´s liking. But at least they were done throwing accusations at each other’s heads and that at least was a good thing. For now. “I am not sure we can trust in him and his story. It sounds rather far-fetched to me and this entire thing seems very unlikely. Why would he come to us with his complaint rather than to any of the official authorities? This isn’t usually our kind of mission.”

 

It was a rhetorical question, but Hadrian answered anyways. “We know how authorities deal with minorities. Much less with peasants. He may not have had another choice.”

 

“He wasn’t a peasant,” Royce remarked darkly.

 

“What makes you say so?” Hadrian frowned. “He said he was. Looked like one too. Why would he lie to us?”

 

"I fear we are being set up. I promise, if he doesn’t pay us what we are due after we return to Medford – and return I will, no matter what – I am personally gonna kill him.” Before Hadrian had time to answer, he added a decisive, “And I don’t care about your permission. Whoever tries to outsmart me will find himself short of a brain to cheat with. Period.”

 

“No, you won´t,” said Hadrian with a confidence he only seldom felt. At least not when it came to Royce in general and killing people in particular.

 

His partner was ruthlessly meticulous in keeping his promises and had never backed out of a death threat. Still, for once Hadrian felt absolutely sure about Royce. Although he had only seen Royce´s expression briefly when the foreign man approached them days ago to help him find a missing youth. It had been just a flicker of emotion on his narrow face before the secretive man had flicked a hand, hid his face inside the vastness of his dark cowl and walked away without saying another word leaving Hadrian to finish conducting their business. But it had been there. It had been enough.

 

“Why not?”

 

Suddenly, Hadrian laughed. He hadn’t meant to, it just escaped in a sudden bout of mirth. It wasn’t a particularly funny situation, but he could very well see what Royce was trying to do. His steed jerked her head in dismay at the sudden guffaw and the damp reins chafed against his sweaty palms. The sound reflected off the many broken facades of houses and echoed back at him oddly distorted.

 

“Because you actually sympathized with the guy. Come on, admit it.”

 

What made the situation even funnier was that Royce pretended otherwise. Something about Dunstan was different, something about him had evoked a difference of attitude in Royce, and his partner had been on edge ever since. Hadrian couldn’t really put his fingers on the effects yet, but he was just as sure of them as he was of the sun rising in the east. He knew they were there and he planned to make Royce admit to it. Maybe he had reminded Royce of himself, back on the streets in Ratibor. Maybe Royce had once known someone just like Dunstan. Maybe it was something entirely different, but Hadrian was bent on finding it out. And he would, in due time.

 

“Believe me, I wouldn’t hesitate a second to slit his throat,” claimed Royce. “You know I don’t like to deal favours. I scratch his back, he scratches mine, that´s the only way the world works for me. If not, he will have to pay for the consequences. The hard way.”

 

“Yeah, I bet you´d like that,” Hadrian noted quietly.

 

“What was that?”

 

“What? Nothing, nothing at all. But still… The guy appeared genuine to me,” Hadrian said sympathetically. “It is hardly fair to judge him before we have investigated his claims. We owe him that at least. Besides, he quite seemed to like you too.”

 

“Too bad,” Royce snapped. “I didn’t like him.”

 

“That hardly seems a fair criterion to me. You don’t like anyone who gets close enough to see the colour of your eyes.”

 

“That´s not true. I like Gwen. And Albert. Sometimes.”

 

Sighing in resignation, Hadrian murmured, “You know, you could just as easily have said _me_.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You could have said you liked me? I am your partner, remember? We´ve been working together for over five years. You know me better than anyone else. How about a little appreciation once in a while for the man who covers your back?”

 

“What _is_ the colour of my eyes, then?” Hadrian could hear Royce smirk. It was not an encouraging sound.

 

"The… what?” Hadrian reeled. He struggled to remember when he´d last been close enough to Royce´s face to be able to tell the shade of his eyes. He couldn’t remember a single time. They hadn’t been blue for sure, neither did he think green would suit Royce very well. Could they have been brown? Grey? Black? Something in between? Something entirely different? “I… uh, I know for sure that they were not a pale purple lilac, right.”

 

Royce ignored him. “How about: I like you so much I don’t decide to get rid of you every time you do something stupid,” he suggested, “which regrettably is quite often in your particular case I. Does that count?”

 

“You´re exhausting me,” quipped Hadrian, following Royce about yet another turn that led them even further away from visible civilization. If he hadn’t known himself in the middle of a thriving trading port, Hadrian would have felt like wandering a ghost town. There were no longer any lanterns on poles to light the way across the muddy tracks in the dark and even the moon seemed oddly subdued in the hot and humid air.

 

“You do, though, don’t you?”

 

“What? Like you?” Royce turned around once more at that, this time slightly longer, the cheesy smirk flashing across his face cold and mischievous enough to make Hadrian pause. “Of course I do. You know, in these fleeting moments in which I do not feel the overwhelmingly strong need to strangle you,” he said.

 

"Hmpf,” Hadrian huffed, “I really don’t know why I put up with you at all.”

 

Royce shrugged his shoulders and just as quick as that he felt peace and balance between them restored. They fell into the habitual silent camaraderie that usually prevailed.

 

"Anyways, we probably should have a plan. You know, just in case,” said Hadrian after a while.

 

"So you believe me." It was neither a question nor a simple statement of facts. Royce was evaluating a situation and he did so with precision, just as he did everything else.

 

“I did not say such a thing. But we should come prepared. Local orderlies are hard-nosed and unscrupulous. I think there´s at least a possibility we´ll indeed find what has been taken from our client. And if so, all hell will break loose.”

 

“Another reason for sensible thieves _not_ to take the case.”

 

Hadrian ignored the studied grumpiness of his partner in crime.

 

“So, what are we going to do if Dunstan´s claims prove true? We need an escape strategy. We´ll have to seek a place of safety as soon as possible. Especially in case we´re not traveling home alone.”

 

“As you appear not to be in the spirit for being dispirited be me, I´ll leave that up to your creativity. Charm yourself out of as much trouble as you can conjure up if you like. Just know this: I will not put the well-being of an impostor over mine. The minute this starts getting out of hand, I am out of here.” Royce had clearly made up his mind about that one. Hadrian could hear it in the tone of his voice, in the finality with which he spoke. And once decided on a scheme of action nothing in the world could make Royce abandon his purpose. “And it would do you good to follow my lead in this.” Royce _tsked_ impatiently. “I´d be awfully unhappy being made responsible for your lack of mobile animation if this entire affair goes south and I have to drag your corpse back to Medford on my own. It would terribly annoy me as well. Just remember I warned you.”

 

Hadrian exhaled slowly but didn’t say anything else. He knew Royce and his ways quite well by now, and sometimes trying to pound reason into his partner equalled talking to a wall. A very, very high wall. Worse, in some ways, because Hadrian knew a wall would eventually give.

 

The alley bent again and narrowed to barely the width of two men walking abreast. Like a channel flush with spring water it led to a narrow street canyon and for the first time since leaving the main road, Hadrian saw other people. These were silent and wary, though, bunked in the dilapidated towers and turrets of old buildings, watching new arrivals from the shelter of overhanging eaves or from behind half-collapsed walls. Just when Hadrian got really tingly all over and considered drawing his swords – for good measure but also to cut through the thickening patch of flies he grew tired of inhaling – the path widened once more, disgorging them into a big roughly circular square of drying mud and packed dirt. It was hidden from the busier streets like a protected alcove or a hidden bay along the shore. Another hub of nocturnal activities accessible only by a series of alleys as run-down as theirs and ringed by houses looking even worse for wear. One of them had no roof and from the windows of the next grew wildly straggling trees and brush as lush as anything Hadrian had ever seen in this neighbourhood. Yet he now realized the neighbourhood was far from deserted or abandoned. You only had to look for the right signs from the right perspective. Hadrian had no doubt similar lookouts hidden in abandoned buildings manned all points of entrances in other cardinal directions. Something told him they had just passed a test and been granted rather than gained entrance merely by chance. Hadrian was also sure nobody who hadn’t been here before would manage to find their way here on their own. He certainly wouldn’t. He thoughtfully regarded Royce with renewed curiosity as he signalled Hadrian to follow him closely. What was his friend not telling him?

 

Royce sighed, apparently relieved, hiding both face and discomfort in the wide collar of his dark-hooded cloak. “We´re here.”

 

There in the middle of all the chaos and strife, focal point of whatever activities went down here, stood a tavern. As unblemished and well-kept as possible in the surrounding circumstances the inn was also the only brightly lit structure in the vicinity. It was a big house, towering over all surrounding makeshift hovels by at least two stories and it was the only one with both intact windows and a sound door. Although Hadrian felt it did have a certain list to the right as if a drunk giant had once upon a time stumbled into the structure, badly dented it with a punch of his broad shoulders and then trolled off without further ado. The wide double swinging door was the only brightly coloured piece of human civilization in the neighbourhood. Painted in a shining red, Hadrian wondered what particular incentive had made the owner distinguish his venue from all others in the country like this. Swivelling merrily whenever a new patron entered or exited, Royce and Hadrian witnessed periodical snippets of obscene laughter and drunken merriment wafting outside on air full of the odours of beer, broth and the warm embrace of cheap love.

 

“This town is looking friendlier already. There´s nothing like an inn for a thirsty warrior.” Hadrian sighed as well and followed Royce towards the inn.

 

A few pre-midnight drunks loitered about on the porch and a makeshift chain of bells dangling from the cobwebbed eaves chimed every time someone set his feet on the creaking boards of the patio. Otherwise the evening was quiet and empty, which struck Hadrian as odd considering the number of people moving through the square. They didn’t have the typical stride of at-their-ease party goers or after-work drunks. Something seemed more tense here, strained. They stopped their horses and Hadrian saw Royce twitch, nervously directing glances to all sides. The black hood of his cape had gone up and that was Hadrian´s second clue. It was a habit of him, and Hadrian had long ago learned to notice and trust in these instincts of his.

 

“Everything all right?”

 

“Fine.”

 

Nevertheless, Royce turned from the brightly lit den of iniquity. He tossed his bridles towards Hadrian, who wasn’t prepared and thus failed to catch them in the dark, flinching from the sting of leather to his face. He cursed when he saw Royce making for the opposite direction.

 

“What are you doing, Royce?”

 

“There´s something I need to check,” Royce muttered, distracted. “You go on ahead. I´ll catch up with you.”

 

“In there?” Hadrian indicated the inn.

 

It didn’t have a name, he realized with a start. Or at least it didn’t have a sign advertising one which was a really unusual thing here or in either of the Kingdoms, but most so in Rhenydd. King Urith was known for enforcing strict rules of commerce and businesses. It was not easy to open let alone maintain a commercial establishment in the continents´ – admittedly controversial – most thriving harbour city. Many thought this was how Vernes continued to prosper. Asking the shop holders and aspiring merchants Hadrian knew an entirely different opinion would come to light.

 

Royce jerked his head, almost as if he were listening to a very distant song, trying to identify the melody of a bird he had long ago heard. He had his back turned to Hadrian and although the words he gave in reply were fitting his mood, his answer lacked all of his usual asperity.

 

“Yeah, in there. You´re not afraid to enter an establishment of merriment on your own, are you? They won´t chop off your head, Hadrian, King of Revels. I´ve heard it said that nobody knows to party quite as extensively and persistently as Hadrian the Reveller. So I guess you´ll be fine starting inebriation without me.”

 

He patted Hadrian´s arm and suddenly the nervous tension had been transmitted to him as well. A tenant exited the inn and laughter mingled with music while the crimson doors swivelled on their hinges. He stumbled a few unsteady steps, made it down the length of the patio. There he caught hold of a wooden beam and noisily started emptying his bowels.

 

“You´ll fit right in.”

 

“I am not in accord with that,” said Hadrian, furrowing his brow.

 

He had finished tying their horses to the poles. Both of them would need special care tonight. They were as sweaty as Hadrian himself, and he imagined accusing looks of betrayal from both of them at leaving them standing out here in the sticky hotness while both Hadrian and Royce would presently be rid of that plague in a room inside the tavern. _Sorry_ , he mouthed to the little grey gelding that had served him well on the long trip here from Medford.

 

“Wasn’t my idea, so I don’t care,” Royce said in the meantime.

 

“What exactly am I supposed to be looking for in there? Dunstan never said anything about a tavern. We´re not supposed to be here, Royce. His quarrel was with the constabulary not with the commoners.”

 

“I know what he said.” Royce turned towards him one more time and though the dark of his cowl cast his face in shadows, Hadrian saw the white flash of white as Royce bared his teeth. “Look out for anything unusual. Trust me, there´s nothing common about this place. We are exactly where we have to be.” He started towards the dark shadows to the left. “Oh, and watch out for the Crimson Man.”

 

It was a moment before Hadrian registered what Royce had whispered under his breath. “I… uh, who?” he stammered, puzzled. “What the hell is a… a _crimson man_?”

 

The vomiting drunk sharply jerked his head, Hadrian saw a grizzly bearded, weathered face and sharply piercing eyes. Probably gasping for breath, gulping mouthfuls of air before he continued with his dreadful business.

 

Hadrian turned back to Royce but it was to no avail. Without taking a further look at Hadrian or saying anything else Royce had melted into the dark.


End file.
